


Soy Celeste

by rekishi



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Friendship, M/M, World Cup, hint of kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-08
Updated: 2010-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rekishi/pseuds/rekishi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some battles are fought in the pouring rain on a ragged field. Some matches take place in bright sunshine on a perfect pitch. But what about the men behind the ball? With their hearts tied to their shoes and their souls made greater by football, they are Celeste.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soy Celeste

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carmenta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/gifts).



> I've taken some poetic license with a few details, especially where order of events during leisure time is concerned in the hope I shall be forgiven. Thank you to she who shall not be named for the sacrifice, and to my encouraging betas [](http://riseupwithfists.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**riseupwithfists**](http://riseupwithfists.dreamwidth.org/) and Cara, who did a great job with this and with hand holding when I was all nervous, too! *g* Also thanks to marcan (who is so removed from anything football or yuletide that I can name him now already), who provided me with the last bit of Spanish, after refusing to admit to his language skills for entirely too long and had to be poked and prodded.
> 
> Rating just to be on the safe side!

It was only their second day at their base camp in Kimberley and already there seemed to be problems.

Yesterday, everyone had just been too tired from travelling, too excited to be at el Mundial at all - as the last team qualified in the playoffs - and too preoccupied with settling into their assigned rooms for anyone to get up to much. The lingering jet-lag played its own part in keeping all of them a little subdued. And today they had spent with checking out their new home training ground for the next few days (or, more hopefully, weeks). They had gotten some light training in to accommodate for the lingering jet-lag and answered a few questions of the locals, who had come to watch the training session.

Most of the other teams barred spectators from watching training, but Coach Tabarez, el Maestro, had decided it was just as well. And the people were nice, polite and didn't disturb them. The team had even taken a few of the older boys through their paces after official training had been over and done with. Considering they didn't have a football club here, those boys had not been too bad.

But when someone was knocking at his door a while after lights out, Diego Forlán knew everything was not all right any longer.

Lugano in the other bed switched on the bedside lamp and asked without sitting up, "You or me?"

"You're the captain," Diego said reasonably and turned onto his other side away from the light, "you're the go to guy." He closed his eyes again, but heard rustling from the other bed, only to have his blanket ripped away from him a few seconds later.

"What if someone wants to club me over the head? You're coming with me," Lugano, Tota, ordered and there was not much use in arguing. The knocking had kept up in intervals during their exchange, but now it seemed to sound impatient.

When they opened the door, Fucile looked at them in exasperation, a pillow tucked under his arm, hair standing on end. He looked very much not like his usual well-groomed self. "One of you needs to switch rooms with me," he declared.

The two other men looked at each other. "Fuci, what-," Lugano started to say but the man in question was already pushing past them.

"Suárez is driving me insane. Either he can't shut up or he keeps tossing and turning around or paces the fucking room. I can't sleep in there. And I need my beauty sleep." Which was probably true. It was almost eerie how he managed to look almost immaculate - except for grass stains - even after 90 minutes on the pitch.

Luis Suárez, of course, was a special case.

Diego looked at Lugano, who just shrugged. "Fuci can sleep on the sofa?" Tota suggested but Diego just waved it off. That was no permanent solution, and they all needed proper sleep if they wanted to get anywhere in this tournament.

"I'll go. Fuci, the left bed is mine and if you drool on anything but your own pillow, I'll make you eat it." He collected his cushion from the bed and got his new room key from his team mate. "I'll get the rest of my stuff tomorrow." It was unlikely he'd be sleeping here again; if Fuci couldn't deal with Luis that arrangement now was a done deal. Those two got along well enough on and off the pitch, but not everyone was able to put Luis through his paces when he was on edge. Or even when he wasn't. Luis tended to be on overdrive even when the situation didn't call for it, a trait that made him a brilliant forward, but sometimes a little hard to be around permanently. His wife had him well in hand and Godín and Lodeiro were astonishingly good at dealing with it as well, but since Fuci had come to Lugano and Diego instead...

Sighing, Diego walked along the quiet hallways and entered the room assigned to Fucile and Suárez not a minute later. A few steps into the room showed Luis sitting on his bed, mobile in his hands. "Oh, it's you," he said after a quick look up.

"It's me," Diego confirmed and, after throwing the pillow on the other bed, went to his friend and took the phone from him. "Fuci and I are switching rooms," he explained and put the device down on Luis' night stand. "It's late, she's not going to call."

"But the baby-"

"The baby's fine, Luis. Go to sleep." With Luis' wife Sofia only weeks to go before their first child was due, it was understandable that the man was nervous, of course, but that only added one more layer to his usual jumpiness. Nothing indicated the baby would be born while they were here, and Sofia was with her parents in Barcelona; everything would be well.

He switched off the ceiling light and made his way over to his new bed. He lay down flat on his belly with his face buried into the pillow. After several long moments of silence, he started hearing Luis move, turning from one side to the other. He growled a little and Luis stilled.

Only to start tossing again several minutes later.

"Luis, I swear, if I have to come over there I'll tie you up and leave you hanging until tomorrow morning," Diego finally said. The only answer he got for a while was surprised silence.

When Luis did finally answer, there was a hint of mischief in his voice. "Promise?"

"Oh for..." Diego reached out to switch on the light on the night stand, got up and went over to Luis, who just grinned at him. He didn't really plan on tying the man up - it wasn't like there was a handy length of rope to be had right now - but he did sit down on the mattress and reached out to cover his friend's mouth with his hand. "You are going to be quiet now. And sleep. We have a match in a few days, and I'd really like to be up to par for that. Understand?" When nothing was forthcoming, he sighed. "Nod when you understand."

Luis nodded. Just for good measure and to drive his point home, Diego left his hand in place for a few seconds longer. He hadn't counted on Luis taking active steps so it came as a bit of a shock when his palm was licked. Scowling, but demonstratively slow, he pulled his hand away. He patted Luis on the head and tousled his hair affectionately, then got up again to finally get some sleep. "Good night. And _sleep_ now."

"Okay. Good night."

Luis was reasonably quiet after that, shifting a few times, but his breathing quickly became deep and regular and Diego finally fell asleep as well.

\--

Luis handed him a fresh ice pack and sat down next to him on the bed. "Feeling any better?"

"Do I have a choice?" Diego growled and pressed the cold gel onto his abused muscles. A stupid training injury when he least needed it and they hadn't even played their first match yet.

"No," Luis conceded and got up to start pacing. "But what if you can't play?"

"Then it's up to you and Cavani."

But Luis didn't seem to hear him. "With you out of the game, we can just rebook our tickets back home for tomorrow."

"Luis."

"Most teams have had injuries. Why do they drag on the season like that, too, in a Mundial year? Did you have problems in the last few league games?" he inquired, but didn't wait for an answer. "Because I was fit, but a few of the other guys at Ajax really looked tired and wrung out. And I haven't seen them here yet, but all that travelling can't have helped."

"Luis!" Diego finally called louder than he'd intended and was glad they were the only ones in the sleeping quarters right now. He'd been sent to get weight off his thigh and rest, and Luis was to be his minder. Whoever had that idea was probably laughing himself silly right now.

"I'm just saying-" Another growl escaped Diego at that and Luis shut up instantly.

He patted the spot next to him on the bed. "Come here."

The younger man sat and for a moment there was silence. It wasn't that Diego wasn't worried himself about this happening now. Truth was, almost every team on the Cup had sustained losses due to injury - the German squad especially had been decimated by training injuries in the weeks leading up to now - but that didn't mean any of the selections were any less dangerous or potentially lethal. From the group they had ended up in, every team - France, Mexico and South Africa - was manageable by itself. But France, in combination with Mexico, might just break their backs. And having to play the host nation on their own turf would not be an easy psychological feat either.

They'd worked so hard to qualify, and for many of the younger ones like Luis this was their first Mundial. Diego would rather make sure it was a success, especially compared to the last couple of disasters. They'd taken the hurdle to qualify, but he didn't want to go home after the group stage yet again. Winning their first match would be an incomparable advantage. "We'll manage," he finally said.

"But what if-" Luis piped up again, but this time Diego would not let him finish. Following a sudden instinct he brought his hand up to thread into his friend's hair and keep him in place, then leaned in and pressed their mouths together.

He felt Luis' muscles tense up for a split second, in shock most likely. But then he relaxed a little and his lips turned pliable. He returned the kiss - even sneaked his tongue out for a few careful licks over Diego's lips. After what felt like a long time they broke apart and Diego opened his eyes - only that he had no recollection of closing them in the first place. He saw Luis look at him from close up, confusion and fondness mingled in his expression until the man leaned in and initiated another kiss.

Diego broke this one, his mind having caught up with his instincts and screaming at him. "Wait. Hey. Luis. This is not a good idea. Sofia-"

"Is glad not to have me underfoot at the moment. She's been saying I'm driving her crazy before she left for Barcelona. And this is you. It might be different with someone else, but she'll know you're not taking me away from her. She'll understand." He reached out and let his hand travel up Diego's arm, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance. "Zaira?"

Diego met his eyes. "Knows that nothing that happens at el Mundial is permanent." They'd had that talk a while ago already. At first she'd been hesitant to give him her consent, but she also was smart enough to understand about pressure and excess energy and frustration, and seen that an arrangement like this was preferable to the alternatives.

Hopefully they'd see each other. She was coming to South Africa with the rest of his family for the last game of the group stage and maybe they would stay a little longer, if they managed to advance with the team. But that was not a concern for this very moment.

It was then that Luis pulled at his t-shirt and Diego forgot about thinking for a while.

\--

Diego didn't know why it surprised him that sex was an effective means to get Luis to quiet down, but it did.

The discovery of lube and condoms in his shaving kit had been no less of a surprise, but easily explained by, "You won't believe how creative you get when your wife is pregnant and no sex is in the cards for a while. Let me tell you, skin on skin _chafes_ after a while."

The only drawback seemed to be that he had to explain the sudden appearance of bruises in interesting places in the shower after training. On the other hand, that was more than made up by what Luis could do with his mouth and certain other parts of his anatomy. And if they were a little more physical around each other than usual, no one remarked on it. In fact, no one probably even noticed it.

They didn't sleep in the same bed. After all, they weren't starting a relationship and if anyone had caught them at it, some explaining would have been necessary. By avoiding falling sleep asleep together, they also avoided complications.

It was a good arrangement that spectacularly backfired when they finally played their opening match against France.

Luis had been so very nervous the night before and kept Diego up for hours past bedtime. Nervous energy, hands roaming without focus and his endless talking had shortened the night considerably and they had played accordingly. And then Lodeiro managed to get a straight red on top of it. It was a miracle they had managed a draw, but that was probably due to France not being up to par. The French team hadn't communicated one bit on the pitch, and that had been Uruguay's luck, but Diego was sure it wouldn't strike again.

So was el Maestro, who reamed them good at half-time and again after the game.

There'd been no opportunity for Diego and Luis to be alone until they were back in Kimberley. Once the door to their room had fallen shut behind them, he had Luis pinned against it and was keeping just enough pressure on his windpipe to be sure he had the man's full attention.

"You," he said very quietly, "will not do that again." Luis mutely shook his head and after another long stare into his eyes, Diego released him.

Ultimately, it was no use blaming Luis, they all had been off their game. And they had not been alone in that, it seemed. The reports about the opening match between South Africa and Mexico hadn't sounded too enthusiastic either, although at least there had been one goal for each team. So they just had to wait and hope for better luck in a couple of days.

Rolling his shoulders, Diego got rid of his jeans and sweater and changed into proper training gear. "I'll go to the treadmill," he announced but didn't spare Luis a glance. Although he knew it was pointless - and nothing had been lost - he was still a little angry at Luis and he hoped to run that off the next hour or so. If his thigh cooperated.

Angry sex, he discovered that night, was pretty good to get rid of his residual resentment, too. He had Luis pinned under him, writhing with a mixture of pleasure and discomfort from most of Diego's weight resting on his chest and hips, but he made no moves to get away. Not that he very well could have, without the proper leverage. He would have said if it was too much for him though, Diego could trust him with that so he wasn't overly worried about Luis not being able to take it. If they'd had bed posts instead of a wooden headboard, Diego would have tied Luis there. It was an appealing image, Luis all hot and bothered and with nowhere to go, but one he probably wasn't going to see outside his imagination.

He straightened, lifting some of his weight off his friend, and dug his short nails into the thin flesh at Luis' hips. Let him try to explain bruises in strange places for once. He changed his rhythm, which had Luis moaning, but if in complaint or appreciation Diego couldn't tell, it was all too intermingled by now.

A little while later, they were lying next to each other, catching their breath. Luis cradled his injured hand against his chest and looked down to inspect the gouges left in his skin. "Making sure I have a lot of explaining to do should I do this with anyone else, are we?"

Diego raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you do this with anyone else?"

"No," Luis laughed lightly at his tone of voice and leaned over to lick at the cooling sweat on his throat. "You keep me quite occupied. It's South Africa next."

The mood thus changed, Diego scooted over a fraction to allow them both to have some space and leaned back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Luis had one leg bent and Diego absently put a hand on his thigh. "Yes. And we need to do a lot better, I don't want to fly home after the group stage already."

"Neither do I!" Luis exclaimed and sat halfway up, wincing when his lower back protested. No wonder after the past half hour.

Their eyes met when he turned around and they both burst out laughing. They were an odd pair, the two of them.

\--

The match against South Africa was nerve wrecking even before they had finished to line up to go onto the pitch. The singing of the other players, the masses that were all cheering for the host nation, and then this was the capital no less. But Diego knew he had to stay calm and collected, to not make the team nervous. That was his private deal with Tota: since they were walking in on two different ends of the file, they had to be the ones to exude a calming effect on the others, a semblance of control over the situation.

He threw a quick look to Luis, who was standing behind him. "Doing good?"

"Fine," his friend murmured back. They both were well rested this time, training had not yielded any more injuries, thank God, and this was their chance to make it. So rather than take the hand of the boy walking in next to him he put an arm around his shoulder to guide him. These kids had to be at least as nervous as them. He kept his hand there when they positioned themselves for their anthem, feeling Luis brushing against his shoulder ever so lightly.

When South Africa's anthem had been played as well, Diego smiled down at the boy before he wandered off with the other children.

The first goal was a relief.

Even though the whole audience seemed against them, he'd taken his first goal of el Mundial, and never had he relished an embrace as much as Tota and Godín's right then. Even Abreu, who didn't carry his el Loco nickname for nothing, almost tearing his headband off had felt good. And he would have kept it, the bastard, and let him play on with hair in his eyes. On the other hand, Fuci kissing the back of his neck had been slightly disturbing, especially as Luis used the same gesture occasionally, especially since they'd started to share a room.

Waiting for the penalty was torture.

Yet he couldn't betray any of his nervousness, the new keeper would have known and would hold.

Khune, South Africa's keeper, tackling Luis - Diego had never thought a keeper might do that, considering the usual straight red and penalty kick. Maybe it had been an accident, as the man claimed. Maybe intention but fact was, they'd gotten a chance out of it and Diego had to wait over five minutes to finally claim it.

Torture.

He'd rather they were two goals in the lead already, then the pressure wouldn't have been so huge. He looked down at the ball, bounced it in his hands a few times. He'd read that a lot of the players didn't like it because it _behaved_ differently, especially in the stadium of Port Elizabeth. Jabulani, the ball was named this time. He wiped off the moisture left in it by the grass on his jersey and looked up. One of the South Africans was jogging off the pitch to make room for the new keeper, who then took his position between the posts. Slow as anything.

He narrowed his eyes. They were trying to get to him, clearly.

Diego went up to the man, who had positioned himself right at the penalty spot. "Hi," he greeted. "Sorry about that."

The substituted keeper grinned, betraying his nervousness. "You can't mean that."

"I probably don't, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to say."

The other man shook his head. "Never mind." Then, as Diego bent down to set his piece, he went off to his net.

The referee came up to him. "I don't want any more delays," he said in a no-nonsense tone that was universal to referees everywhere. Diego just nodded his understanding and looked down at the ball. Just him and Jabulani now. He was on his own.

The keeper was still stretching his arms, keeping them warm in this icy cold. They didn't have an advantage, Diego mused, neither of them, considering they both were used to it being cold in what were the summer months in Europe, where he'd been only weeks before.

One last look at the ball, then he took a few steps back. The referee came over again to make everything was as it should be.

A few deep breaths, a look to his left where blue and white flags were lining the stands. They had their faith placed in him. He looked at the goal again, breathed in and started gaining speed.

And the shot went in clean.

The next few seconds were a blur, except Abreu making a grab for his hair band again. And then Luis was pulling him close and pressed a congratulatory kiss to his cheek before everyone went off to their positions again. From here on out, nothing could go wrong. They were eighty minutes into the game, they had to win this.

The third goal only sealed their victory.

Later, when they were showered and changed into warm clothes again and sitting in the coach meant to take them to the airport, Lugano fell into the seat next to him. "Sorry for not making that free kick count."

But Diego just waved it off. He'd been upset for a moment, but that was the game. "Take some, lose some. Who knows if we'd gotten a third otherwise? Who knows if Luis had been fouled if their loss had been more imminent then it was already? Don't worry."

"I'm not. It was just so very embarrassing," his captain explained.

"True that," Diego said grinning and watched as Luis went past their seats to take his customary half-lying position at the back. "Hey Luis," he called out, "how's your lip doing?"

"Why, you want to kiss it better?" the man answered nonchalantly, which earned hooting from everyone who'd already climbed on board. Diego snorted. Luis had made a 'would you look at that' gesture when he got hurt by a little less-than-stray arm and Diego had only shrugged his shoulders. What was he supposed to do, go and beat the guy up?

Lugano raised an eyebrow but ultimately seemed to decide to keep his own counsel in that matter. Instead he leaned in and said, very quietly, into Diego's ear, "Whatever you're doing to keep him in line, keep doing it."

Diego almost choked on the water he'd been drinking and his captain patted him on the back helpfully. It was his full intention to keep doing what he'd been doing, but he really didn't want to elaborate on it, even if ultimately, no one would probably care one way or other.

\--

"I like the ball," Diego said a two days later when he, Tota and Fuci were doing a light jog on treadmills. Luis came in and chose to occupy the one on Diego's left. It would be their only training for two or three glorious days. They'd won and they would only be playing Mexico almost a week hence, so el Maestro had put them on break and promised a surprise for later that day.

"Of course you like the ball," Luis snorted as he started a light running program. "You scored two goals, how could you not like the ball?"

Fuci laughed and Lugano only grinned.

Thoughtfully, Diego increased the speed a notch. "Do you think they'll let me keep one?"

"I think they are highly contested," Tota remarked and did the same speed increase on his machine.

"I can try, though."

"What do you want to do?" Fuci leaned forward a little so he could look at him properly without Lugano in the way . "Steal one? Hide it under your jersey? Suárez' wife can do that, but I don't see them taking you for a pregnant lady. Although, maybe with your hair down and combed into your eyes..."

Diego lobbed an empty plastic water bottle at him.

\--

"Do you plan on letting go of him again?" Luis asked and reached out a hand to pet the lion cub comfortably tucked under Diego's arm. The little guy made a sound somewhere between a purr and a miaow when Luis scratched him lightly behind one ear.

The trip to the game reserve had been a fantastic idea to get everyone's mind off the stakes for a few hours and when they brought out all those cubs, everyone had been taken with him them. El Loco was currently holding two up in his arms, Fuci was busy trying to convince the officials to let him keep one, and now Luis had brought a ball over.

"Not if I don't have to," Diego answered and saw that the lioness whose cub he presumably held in his arms eyed him suspiciously from behind the wire fence.

Smirking, Luis reached up to pet his hair. "Come on, let the little one down and let's see how he behaves with a ball, shall we?"

The cub was good with the ball; a little too good for Diego's liking. While it still looked cute and playful now, he had no doubt that the behaviour would be less cute when it was a grown up lion pouncing on an unsuspecting owner.

They had another half hour with the cubs, then Lugano nodded at him after a quick chat with their coach and Diego left the baby lion with Luis and made his way over. "Guess what's tomorrow," Lugano said without preamble.

"I don't know," Diego answered, squinted and surveyed the team playing in the dust with the lion cubs. "What's tomorrow?"

"We're having an asado." His captain sounded triumphantly and Diego looked at him with eyebrows raised in surprise.

"We do?"

"El Maestro just okayed it. We'll get the equipment from the people running camp but we'll have to do our own shopping, it seems. You up for it?" Lugano was grinning widely, eyes shining with excitement and Diego clapped a hand onto his shoulder.

"You're on! Just..."

"Yeah?"

"Where do we go shopping? Because I haven't seen us passing a supermarket yet." Which hadn't fazed him too much up until this point, but when it came to a proper asado, they had serious shopping to do, not in the least because it was quite an effort to find enough of any one ingredient for 23 footballers and their entourage. There was a reason, after all, that they had rented the whole quarters complex in Kimberley.

But Lugano waved his concerns aside. "The driver knows a place," he said a and pointed at one of the men who'd driven them there earlier. "The others will just have to snuggle up a little to make it fit in the remaining cars, but that's their concern, not ours." He grinned again and hooked an arm around Diego's neck to tug him along.

When they left the warehouse, and there was no other name for it, with what seemed to be a ton of meat, drinks and other goodies they needed for a proper asado, and had reached the car, Lugano stopped him. "Wait, let me take a photo!"

"What for?" Diego called over and looked at the two trolleys packed man high with groceries.

"So we can show our fans that we work hard enough to deserve a break. Look here now!" Lugano took a quick pictures and came over. "I'll send it to your phone and you can twitter it later." He winked and Diego shook his head with a smile while starting to load the supplies into the van.

It was true, none of them kept their fans as updated as Diego did, but it was simply fun. The reactions of everyone out there were all positive, and how many people were crossing fingers for them during games was simply astonishing. Especially as not only their fellow countrymen did, but even a lot from other countries, whose teams participated here, too. So he kept everyone updated and relayed any encouragement in turn to the team.

The asado the next day was, of course, a grand success and everyone was fed to the gills and happy afterwards, ready to start training again the next day, to shake the laziness out of their muscles.

"El Maestro sent the right ones for the job," Abreu remarked as he came to lean against the wall next to Diego. "But there was no less to be expected from the captain and his stand-in."

"You're not getting my headband," Diego responded casually, knowing exactly where this discussion was going.

Abreu, el Loco, laughed and bumped his shoulder. "I'm going with black, not your girly silver."

"It's not girly, it's very functional."

"Of course it is," his friend said easily and leaned one arm onto his shoulder. "You doing good?"

"Splendid." Diego stretched one leg after the other. His thigh gave a little twitch, but other than that it had behaved, luckily. "You, old man?" El Loco was the oldest of their little troop and this would definitely his last Mundial. Even more important to make it count.

Abreu swatted at him lightly but didn't lose his easy grin. "How's our wild child behaving?" he asked, nodding at Luis, who was getting up to something with Fuci that Diego didn't really want to know the nature of. Judging by Cavani's expression, who was standing next to them, it was something bordering disgusting.

"He requires occasional punishment." Diego had tried for a diplomatic answer, because he really didn't want to go into the details of what he was doing to keep Luis reasonably quiet at night. Abreu probably couldn't have cared less, but there were things that went without saying...and things you simply didn't talk about. "But otherwise he hasn't kept Fuci from maintaining his looks."

"Nothing could keep Fuci from maintaining his looks, you should hear Tota curse when he needs an hour in the bathroom and our dear captain comes running to Cavani and me." Well, that explained a few of the new morning rituals in Kimberley, at the very least. "Cavani usually manages to coax Fuci out, though. Next time, Palito's rooming with Fuci again, he seems to put up with it just fine."

They grinned at each other. It was an open secret in the team, and all of Uruguay for that matter, that Fuci and Palito were like an old married couple in some aspects.

Cavani was ambling over, still looking a little put out at what he'd just witnessed. "Hey," he called and handed them both new cans of coke. "Made your video already, Forlán?"

"Sure." Diego reached into the pocket of his sweat jacket and fished for the small camera each of them had been supplied with and handed it to his fellow striker. "I'll put a bit on the channel again."

"Do you think people are actually watching this?" Cavani sounded dubious. Abreu just laughed and Diego reached out to get the device back. Obviously, Cavani wasn't one of his followers.

\--

"So what do you think?" Luis asked as they walked a few steps on the pitch, right before their match against Mexico. They knew those guys, they were regular guests at the Copa Americana, and they all ran into each other occasionally.

"I think this is not going to be as straight forward as our last one," Diego muttered. "They're warned."

"The South Africans didn't play badly."

"No, they just had a bit of bad luck." Diego clapped a hand on Luis' back. "You and me, we're going to rock this."

Luis threw him a smile and then they were lining up.

In the end, their success over Mexico had been a veritable team effort, between himself, Cavani and Luis, who had headed the ball into the net and ensured their progress into the knock-out stage of the tournament.

That had been one stressful second half, always with the fear for an equaliser. Ultimately, they all would have gotten drunk that evening if their next game hadn't been four days hence and they all needed to be fit.

Right off the pitch, Diego's thigh had cramped and even the shower hadn't helped like it usually did. Their physiotherapist had dug into the muscle on the way back to Kimberley and that had helped, a little.

In this very moment, he had Luis sitting next to him, who was stroking a long line from hip to knee along the hard cords of muscle. With anyone else, Diego would have said he was clucking his tongue, but that just didn't feel right, considering that tongue had just slid very pleasurably up and down his cock.

Still, the motions made him groan and not in a good way. Luis frowned and leaned more of his weight onto the next stroke. "You really need to take better care, you're not young like me anymore."

That made Diego lift his arms from his face and throw his friend a flat look. "Wait until you get to be my age and have played 65 international matches and achieved 26 goals."

Luis laughed and took one hand away from his thigh to fondly pat his cheek. "I have eleven already, so be prepared to lose your throne to me! Eventually," he conceded.

"That throne belongs to Scarone, still," Diego sighed and felt the muscle relax a fraction. He sat up and reached out to pull Luis in to come settle down with him. They'd not get up to anything more tonight, even if the occasion of a win actually called for something more, but this was nice for a while, too. He'd always had an easy rapport with Luis from the very beginning of playing in national team, and it was only getting easier now.

Luis stretched out in the narrow confines of the bed and looked at him out of half-closed eyes. "Do you think South Korea will be a hard opponent?"

"Well, they beat the USA, but that doesn't mean much," Diego mused and put a hand on Luis' bare hip to keep up the contact. "From what we've seen of the group stage... They're fast. But you're faster. I'd say they're beatable."

"That's good," Luis murmured and leaned in to peck him lightly on the mouth. "Thanks for the confidence."

It wasn't anything that warranted thanks. They all believed in one another, they had to. They were a team, after all, and while they hadn't played in this exact composition for a long time, there were enough of them who'd seen more than one championship already and who knew how things worked. But they'd all become friends, they had trust in the abilities of he others. And they had to have that, if they wanted to win anything here.

Diego smiled nonetheless. "You're welcome." He nudged Luis. "If you want to sleep go over to your own bed."

But his friend just shook his head. "I want to call Sofia, in a little bit."

And when he felt nothing but the wish for Luis to tell her hello from him and enquire after the baby, Diego knew they had handled this right. What they, he and Luis, were doing here had no place in the real world, where they were both in happy relationships. It was just a way to relief pent up stresses, and a far better one than getting into regular fights with half the team, which would just lead to tension between all of them.

He smiled at his friend. "Go call your wife. And tell her from me I'm making sure you're behaving yourself."

It probably was a good thing Luis was young as he was, else him pushing a pillow into Diego's face and sticking out his tongue would have been immature.

\--

Diego had to pass the ball to Cavani. The South Koreans had come prepared and realised that if they focused on the three of them - Luis, Cavani and Diego himself - and shadowed and covered them whenever the ball got into their vicinity, they could keep them from scoring. So he was currently alone against three of his opponents , but when he'd had to turn around just now to get the ball back after it had been taken, he'd seen Cavani standing free.

His friend received the pass, waited, dribbled until the South Koreans were all focused on him and volleyed the ball into Diego's general direction. Much too far, way too fast and Diego knew he'd have to make a run for it or risk the ball rolling over the boundary of the field. He did get it a good distance away from the line, but Jung-Woo was on him already, contending for the ball. And damn, that guy was fast.

He didn't have free sight to the goal but there was another Korean coming towards him and there was no way to get the ball to anyone else. Palito was standing close to him but he stood covered as well, a pass being a futile effort. So even if the angle wasn't right, he had to give it a try and get the ball across the field, hoping Luis was free and would catch on.

He shot in an angle that never would have reached the goal even without Sung-Ryong, the keeper, making a futile grab for it. The man coming out of his box was proving to be a blessing though, because he was down on his hands and knees when Luis came up on his other side.

One had to leave it to Luis, he had quick reflexes and he was good at catching up to what was going on and make split-second decisions on the pitch. Football had managed to harness his impulsiveness and steer it in the right direction, and their long standing familiarity with each other only helped here. So Luis managed to be behind the cross in seconds and netted the ball without the keeper ever standing a chance at scrambling for it.

Diego saw from a distance that Cavani was throwing himself at Luis and they rolled on the grass a few times before half the squad was joining the growing pile. He jogged over while the benched players were making back to the side and most of the others were returning to their positions. Cavani was already picking himself up. He was grinning madly at him and went back to point. Diego reached out a hand to pull up Luis, who just threw just arms around him once he was vertical.

"Good job," Diego called and hugged back.

Luis just laughed into his ear. "Likewise," he answered and released him after a few more moments and a final squeeze. "We'll talk about a reward later."

Grinning, Diego let go as well and took his position again, not missing the leer Luis was directing at him as he jogged beside him.

The equaliser should never have happened, but Diego had a hard time faulting anyone for it. If there was someone at fault it could have been Lugano, who had inadvertently fouled the South Koreans' captain, or Nando, who shouldn't have come out of his box, or Fuci, who just hadn't been fast enough to prevent the ball from going in.

But there were over twenty minutes to play yet and not all was lost. Diego just hoped they wouldn't have to go on extra time. The rain was getting to everyone, not just to his team but also to the South Koreans. It had been in the air all day, and had started to fall in the first half already, but was really starting to pelt down now. They all were soaking wet and ice-cold.

Winter in South Africa was definitely not a pleasant time of year.

It was the corner Pérez got them that ultimately saved them the match, Diego was convinced of it. That and their unspoken deal that Diego got to do corner and free kicks when possible.

He'd seen Luis being covered by the South Koreans for the first kick, but they did him the favour of enabling him to do another.

He took his time setting his piece, and grimaced at the still falling rain, his jersey dragging at him, water running into his eyes.

Cavani was completely covered, but there only was one opponent close to Luis right then. That just might be their chance.

But of course, it didn't work as planned; still, somehow Luis did get the ball after a short scuffle, manoeuvred his way in front of the goal, shot and netted his second goal of that match.

Diego jerked his arms up in celebration and was caught in the arms of various of his team mates while Luis practically _jumped over the photographers_ to land in the arms of the part of their squad that sat on the bench.

They jogged back to their positions side by side, grinning like loons and hugging with one arm and even though there were still ten minutes too go. They felt positive that they could hold the result. They simply had to.

And suddenly, the rain didn't feel so cold anymore. They had been the last team to qualify for el Mundial in playoffs, now they suddenly were the first to qualify for the quarter finals.

\--

There were a few days lull between the beginning of the knock-out stage and the quarter finals. Or at least for them there was, as they'd been in Group A initially and were the first to finish.

They already knew they'd play against Ghana next, the last of the African teams left in the competition. That would, once more just like in the match against South Africa, mean they had the whole world against them. Or at least it would feel like that. Diego just hoped there'd be a few blue and white flags on the stands as well, it was good for everyone's morale.

They watched the other games. The Netherlands were a team to be reckoned with, Brazil was playing sub-par, but that been expected in a way. Argentina seemed to lack structure, which was surprising, and Germany they'd have to watch, if only because their match against England could not be representative. It was a miracle the English team had made it to knock-out stage at all, so they'd have to wait for the quarter final to fully judge the Germans. Incidentally, that quarter final would eliminate either Germany or Argentina, so they'd only have to potentially worry about one of them, later. Much later.

"What?" Pérez asked, comfortably slouched on the couch next to him when they watched the games on re-play.

"I was just thinking Kun will hate it if he doesn't get to face us in one of the finals," Diego answered, thinking of his team mate at Atletico.

"Kun's a crazy guy," Pérez answered with a shake of his head. Diego had to agree with that, but the craziness made for some pretty inventive footballing. Just for some reason, Kun Agüero wasn't realising his full potential in this tournament, which was just weird. But then, a lot of people and seems teams seemed to not be their usual selves.

Paraguay and Spain were the last two to get out of the knock-out stage, so they would play each other. Diego knew a bunch of the Spanish guys from la Primera División and it was clear to him who was going to win that quarter final, hands down and no questions asked.

All of them also got see their families during those days. Between the daytime training and their watching of the knock-out games, they had most evenings off, as long as they didn't get drunk and their performance didn't suffer. It had been good to see Zaira and his siblings, so it was with a heavy heart that he bid them farewell (for now) the last free evening, when el Maestro had given them a curfew and told them the last two days before the match they were to concentrate on their work rather than play. They all realised that it was a big distraction having their families and friends around, so none of them argued.

\--

The match against Ghana was best described as surreal.

Diego's recollection of it wasn't accurate, he knew. It was punctuated by Lugano handing him the captain's band because he had been hurt - and they still didn't know if he'd be able to play in the semi - and by his own goal, by Fuci looking pretty bad after that tumble and, of course, Luis' handball and subsequent dismissal and absence.

By now Diego knew Nico had also been injured but hadn't said a word during the 70 minutes he had played, and his foot had suffered for it. They were not yet sure what was wrong with it, but he could hardly walk and he'd gotten a pair of crutches first thing. And Fuci had a light concussion, but as he had also been booked a second time, he would miss the next match one way or other.

Which left Luis and his handball. Sending him off the pitch had, of course, been absolutely correct from the referee, but Diego could have kissed him silly in that moment and not cared who saw or what they were thinking. But by saving them the match Luis might just as well have lost himself the tournament. It all hinged on the decision of the FIFA officials now.

It was late that night when Diego kicked the door to their shared room in Johannesburg shut behind them and leaned against it. He was tired, he'd spent the past half hour with el Maestro and Tota, trying to come up with what to do if the captain would be out of the match against the Netherlands. As nothing was certain yet, they hadn't been all that successful, but for now it looked like Diego would have to act as captain for the next few days at the very least.

"Thought I heard something," Luis' voice sounded and he looked up into the man's face, still grinning. He knew he was suspended for at least the next game, but if that had penetrated his cheer at _winning_ yet, Diego couldn't tell.

So he just smiled and pushed away from the door, holding his arms open. "Come here, you."

Luis caught him in a crushing hug, one hand splayed between Diego's shoulder blades and the other buried in his hair, and laughed. "The Hand of God is mine," he chuckled and squeezed tighter, before letting his hands travel down and splay over his arse. Diego pulled away slightly and raised both eyebrows at him. "I'm entitled to a reward," Luis declared in a matter-of-fact tone. "And you can provide it. Right now."

"Oh, can I now." But he wasn't saying no when Luis turned them around and slowly walked him backwards towards the beds, hands now beneath his t-shirt and pushing it upwards until Diego finally gave in and raised his arms so his friend could get rid of it. "You did well. Everyone else would have done the same thing, too," Diego told him in between kissing, getting rid of various pieces of clothing and still walking backwards.

"Everyone _did_. If not me, it'd hit one of the others."

They were at one of the beds and Diego's knees buckled when his legs knocked against it, but he reached for Luis to pull him down with him. Their discussion ceased when Diego's hand reached into the other man's shorts and Luis gasped.

A long while later, Diego tried to look at his back in the bathroom mirror. He could make out faint red streaks where Luis had scratched him, and however the man had managed that would remain an eternal mystery. He also had a bruise coming up on his upper arm and his hip, but those would just join the ones that were already there from the match.

Luis, already showered and changed into a fresh pair of shorts and a t-shirt, was splayed out on one of the beds when Diego came back into the room proper with only a towel around his hips and looked at him expectantly. Diego raised an eyebrow in question as he fished clothes for himself out of his suitcase. He'd been living out of bags and suitcases for so many years already, he'd gotten rid of the habit of unpacking in hotel rooms long ago. "That penalty kick was brilliant," Luis said. "I never had a chance to tell you that earlier."

"You did, right when you came back onto the pitch. You almost made me deaf on that ear, you yelled so hard. But thank el Loco, by rights that one shot should never have gone in and we all know it." He pulled on the shorts and sat on the bed next to his friend, rubbing a hand up and down his injured thigh which had a tired feel to it. That extra time had taken its toll on all of them, 120 minutes of pressing football were too much, and they all knew it.

"I'm not sure Abreu would appreciate my thanks quite like you do," Luis remarked fondly and sat up to hand him a heating patch that had miraculously appeared from his suitcase next to the bed. "So I'm keeping my thanks with you, if you don't mind. Is there anything new about Nico?"

Diego grumbled a little at the image of Luis paying his thanks to el Loco, but shook his head at the question. "No, but the way his foot was looking, I'd not count on him for the last two matches."

"Damn," Luis muttered and Diego reached out to pat his head soothingly. Luis and Nico were close, both playing for Ajax since earlier this year and they were a good team. It was a shame, too, because with Tota probably out of the run, and Fuci, too, they could have used Nico pretty badly because he was so versatile as midfielder, but also as a winger. Well, they would manage without him, too. They had to, after all.

He put on the t-shirt and made to get up, but Luis held him back by grabbing his arm in a languid gesture. "You should stay over here tonight." At his questioning look, his friend just shrugged. "You have the choice, either you sleep in that really wet spot over there, or we can make do with the available space here."

Diego grimaced at the thought of being cold and wet all night after the pouring rain on the field already and caught Luis' smug grin. "No more bruises. Or scratches."

"You give as good as you get, have you _seen_ my shoulders?" He pulled the neck of his t-shirt askew and revealed veritable bruises in finger shapes blooming on his skin.

"No more bruises," they agreed after a long look at each other and grinned. It was always just _slightly_ escalating when they were in a certain mood, no one ever suffered from serious injury. Bruises healed in a matter of days, and none of them hurt, it was only visible evidence, not tactile. And there was nothing wrong with it, as long as they were in agreement and it felt good.

Luis leaned in to hug him again, with none of the earlier urgency or heat and Diego brought his uninjured thigh up to sit sideways and slung his left arm around his friend. "Thanks," was whispered into his ear, warm breath tickling.

"Likewise. And you're welcome," he whispered back.

It was another long while before they found any sleep.

\--

There was no shame in losing against the Netherlands, Diego thought. With the squad as decimated as it was, they had decided on a defensive position, it just hadn't paid off. And no one was to blame for it, they'd given it all they had. And it had almost worked.

Diego would have tried to make the difference, but his thigh, tired the whole first and second half, had given out in the dying minutes of the match and there was nothing he could do. The others did what they could, but it was not enough.

The loss against Germany chafed.

Not because they hadn't been as good as the Germans, but because they _had been_ as good as the German guys. It wasn't as if the other team didn't deserve the win - they came from a strong position with no injuries during the tournament - but because after such a long time, Uruguay had been on the right track. And even though the title had been lost already, it would have been fabulous, wonderful, glorious, simply amazing to make third place.

And because it was Diego's fault they hadn't made extra time. After that volley he had picked out of the air, a goal that had felt better than none before, he should have made that free kick count no matter what. On the other hand, they could not have stood an extra thirty minutes, again. The Ghana match had taken everything they had, and there had been the semifinals since then, another match that had cost a lot of energy. Luis and Fuci might have managed those extra minutes, but they had been on enforced hiatus for the semifinals, and they weren't burdened with lasting injuries.

But that missed free kick hurt. Taking it would have meant another chance for them. But he'd misjudged, or the curse of the Jabulani had now come to haunt him, or maybe the curse was on the Nelson Mandela Bay Stadium that had cost more than one team their victory already. He couldn't tell. There was no question that fourth place at el Mundial was the best result any Celeste team had had since 1970, but this close a loss just felt like even more of a defeat.

They celebrated, of course, on the pitch already. The Germans might be happy, or even more dejected because this was the second time they only managed third place, but Diego and everyone else had been beyond happy after the final whistle. Remorse was for the few minutes during which he waited for everyone to get on board so they could go back to the hotel. There was another match to watch tomorrow, after all.

"What's next?" Luis asked and leaned against him to look out the window as well. "Anything interesting out there?"

"Nothing," Diego answered and reached up to tousle his friend's hair, who immediately tried to bring it back to what he thought of as orderly. "Next? Holiday. A good, long holiday. Although I'm due in India in two weeks."

Luis blinked. "What the hell are you doing there?"

"Reality show jury member. Sounded like fun, and it's in Calcutta." A place where legends went, or so it was said. He didn't quite think himself a legend, but it was still flattering. "But first I'm going to Florida with Zaira."

"Nice. When's your first game with Atletico? Because the Eredivisie has kick-off in less than a month. If I'll stay." Luis was still comfortably tucked close against his side, but he didn't mind. The coach was filling, the others still talking excitedly or almost asleep on their feet.

Diego shook his head. "Late August. We're playing the Super Cup in Monaco first, but that's not long before the first regular match in Spain. Quique wants me back there no later than August 10th. What does it mean, if you'll stay?"

Luis shrugged. "Ajax needs money, and my agent says there are offers on the table but it's ultimately my decision. But I don't know, with Sofia and the baby... I'll have to talk to her."

"Do that." Diego frowned. Moving with a newborn couldn't be an easy feat and while Sofia had been with her parents in Barcelona for the duration of the tournament, Luis would want his wife and baby with him when the season started. He just was that kind of guy. They watched together as the last of the German players entered their coach. "It was a wild ride, wasn't it?"

"It was," Luis agreed. "You should have gotten the Golden Boot."

But Diego shook his head. "Müller has more assists, so its his if a miracle doesn't happen tomorrow."

"But you're more awesome."

Laughing to hide his embarrassment, Diego reached out to ruffle through his friend's hair again. then let his hand rest at the nape of his neck, aware their arrangement would be void after tonight but not mourning it. "Flatterer."

\--

Spain won the championship, of course. Diego never had doubted it one bit once the contestants had been determined. While the Dutch team certainly was good, and Luis confirmed as much from his own experience, the Spaniards had more momentum to use. Although with the match as it went, with fourteen bookings, any outcome would have been possible.

None of them actually saw the celebrations of the Spanish team, because that was when the news about the Ballon de Oro results broke and Diego suddenly found himself in the centre of a crushing group hug that seemed to last forever. "But," he said once he was able to breathe again, "it wasn't me alone!"

"They don't give the trophy to teams," Luis yelled into his ear, hugged him again for good measure and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Diego said automatically, confusion still clouding his mind as he let one hand rest on Luis' shoulder for something to ground him. Their fourth place had been a team effort, not his merit alone. Without Luis' goals, they'd never made it into the knock-out stage, without Pérez getting all those balls they'd never gotten this far, and he, Diego, alone was to take credit for it?

That was right, he decided, there had to be a way to make this count for everyone.

\--

"This is crazy!" Cavani yelled at him over the noise of the thousands, maybe a hundred thousand people gathered in front of the stage.

They hadn't won the championship, but judging by the reaction of the people come to Montevideo today, they just might as well have. Diego looked around the square and didn't know what to say. He could see the same wide eyed stares on the faces of his team mates, not believing what they were seeing. It was deepest winter, yet so many people had come to welcome them home and were treating them like heroes.

It was a little while later, when Tota and Luis had heaved him up on their shoulders even though he protested, that he understood it a little.

For forty years, expectations had been pinned on them - la Celeste, the national team with its varying members over the years and decades, and never had those been fulfilled. Diego himself had suffered from two humiliations during his time on the team - first 2002 with the out during group stage and then not even qualifying in 2006 - and here they were now, fourth best in the whole world. The people here today were not only _happy_ , they were _proud of them_ , for what they'd done.

And it all came down to what was written on one of the banners Diego could now see from his vantage point, far to the back, he could just make out the letters:

Uruguay are back.

End


End file.
